Coping Mechanisms
by Sweet Valentine
Summary: "It wasn't the healthiest way to grieve, but at 00:04, Rosie decided she needed a stiff drink." People cope in different ways; sometimes that includes a bottle of whiskey.


_**Coping Mechanisms**_

It wasn't the healthiest way to grieve, but at 00:04, Rosie decided she needed a stiff drink.

Careful not to wake Alicia, Rosie rolled off her top cot, slid on her boots, and headed for the door. Despite curfew, there were still a few others roaming about; she saw Ted and Alex deep in conversation near the barracks, while Yoko repaired her shawl. Not up for talking, Rosie ducked into the R&D hangar to avoid them.

After peering around the corner to make sure Leon had left for the night, she resumed her brisk pace, crossing past the tanks.

"Awfully late to be headed out, doncha think?"

Startled, Rosie turned to see Zaka leaning over the Shamrock's treads, tightening a few bolts in the belt. Damn. So much for going unnoticed.

Rosie sighed. There was no point in hiding it. "I need a drink." Zaka laughed, grabbing a spare cloth and wiping the grease from his hands. He had disappeared after Isara's funeral, and she had a sneaking suspicion he had spent the rest of the day in the hangar. He wore a friendly smile, but his eyes betrayed sorrow. "You look like you could use a drink, too," she observed.

"Is that an invitation?"

She half-smiled. "Aw, why the hell not?" He laughed again, and despite the sadness creeping into his voice she knew it was genuine.

"Well, since you've so graciously offered, I'll take you up on that. Let me grab a shirt," he said, wiping his face off and rummaging through his things. Rosie blushed; he normally adhered to standard uniform protocol, but she had just realized he must have discarded the shirt a long while ago. As he turned, she saw jagged white scars marring the lean muscles of his back, a daily reminder of his time spent in the Fouzen concentration camp. Rosie winced but didn't ask. Did she really want to know, anyway?

"All set! Hey, you okay?" He asked. She realized she was staring.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Let's go."

He smirked. "Where're we heading?"

She bit her lip, thinking for a moment. "There's a bar not too far away from here. Only been once, but it'll do the trick."

He nodded. "Sounds good."

They walked in silence, and though Rosie felt awkward, Zaka seemed as if he were quite at ease with his hands in his pockets, whistling a tune that was unfamiliar to her. She thought about how to broach any topic of conversation, but realized she was out of her depth; how did you go about making conversation with someone you'd previously shown outright disdain? _Hey, sorry for being a racist asshole _just didn't have the right ring to it. Fortunately for her, the bar was near enough, and the entered and quickly took their seats.

"Are we gonna talk, or is this just a drink in silence kind of thing?"

"Heh," Rosie laughed uncomfortably. "So, I'm that awkward, huh?"

Zaka chuckled. "You're pretty easy to read. Wear your emotions on your sleeves, one could say." He paused, then said, "Not that I mind. If you just want to drink, that's okay." His voice lowered. "…It's been a rough day."

"You ain't kiddin'," Rosie sighed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the bartender eying them warily; she signaled him over. "I don't really know how to feel," she admitted. "About today, about being here with you. No offense. It's just, well, I didn't imagine having any drinking partner, let alone you."

"I get that."

The bartender stood before them, and Rosie took her chance to order. "Whiskey, neat." Both of Zaka's eyes widened at that, and she felt accomplished to get any kind of strong reaction from him.

"I'll have the same."

Whiskey drinker too, huh? Rosie smiled. Maybe Zaka wouldn't be such a bad drinking buddy after all. Largo couldn't stomach the stuff (she affectionately called him the 'biggest lightweight' she'd ever seen), and Rosie doubted that Welkin or Alicia were even interested in alcohol. She was friends with the other squad members, sure, but Nils and Theold were the only one who ever went out to the bars, and she sure as hell knew better than to expect an invite from them. Far be it for her to complain that she finally found a bar buddy in Zaka.

Her spirits dampened when the bartender only placed on glass on the counter. "Where's his?" She asked.

"We don't serve _darkies_, here."

Both Rosie and Zaka stiffened. Even at her worst, she never used a slur _that_ bad. She felt the anger flare up through her stomach to her throat, but as quickly as she stood, Zaka was there, hand on her shoulder, bracing her.

"_What_ did you say!?" Her voice was low, but quaked with rage. The bartender stood, unmoved. Rosie reached for her glass, determined to throw it, but Zaka's other quick hand caught her arm.

"_That's_ a bad idea," he said in a hushed voice, reading her mind. She was awed by his calmness, but when she turned to face him she saw pain in his eyes. So the comments _did_ get to him, after all.

Rosie turned back to the bartender. "You're an _asshole_," she spit. "C'mon, Zaka, let's get out of here."

"I've already poured your drink!" the bartender exclaimed, indignant.

"Yeah, well, I didn't touch it, and I sure as hell ain't gonna drink it now," Rosie fired back. Then, wrapping her arm around Zaka's, she marched them both out the door.

She felt herself shaking as she stomped along the path. "That dickhead," she huffed, "who the hell does he think he is!? How could he do that?" She stopped in her tracks. "How could anyone do that?" she whispered, and Isara flashed in front of her eyes. Was that what it was like for her, Rosie wondered, when she refused the young girl's advances of friendship? Her breath hitched and the lump that formed in her throat was painful and dry. How anyone could do that, Rosie knew well. Was she really any better than that bartender?

"Rosie," Zaka's voice was soft, and in that moment she knew that he was perfectly aware of what she was thinking. When he slipped his arm around her shoulder in comfort she felt her defenses give way to sobs. She folded herself into his chest, and he held her, silent for the moment. Breathing deeply, she forced herself to calm down.

"…Well, now I _really_ need a drink," she muffled into his chest, and he shook both of them when he laughed, his warm breath fanning her hair. She pulled away and swiftly wiped the tears from her face, regaining her composure as best she could.

"I think I can help us out, there," he smiled, offering her his hand. She took it and let him lead her, but found herself surprised to end up back at Headquarters, in the R&D hangar.

"Wait, you had alcohol here the whole time? Why did we leave?" She was mildly annoyed. Then again, if it meant free drinks she could be persuaded to get over it.

Zaka shrugged. "You seemed like wanted to get away. Besides, I didn't know at the time you would like what I have." He walked over to the Shamrock and propped open the door to the maintenance closet along the wall. Rummaging around, he pulled out a bottle with amber liquid. Whiskey. Of course.

"We would get in so much trouble if anyone saw us drinking that on base," she started, but he waved her inside the room. It was larger than she had imagined, and she spied a makeshift cot in the corner.

"I've already told Welkin about it," he answered before she could ask. "After spending so much time in the Fouzen camp, I asked for a private space. You know, some place where I could sleep without being crowded by other people, every now and again." He paused, "It brings up bad feelings, you know?"

Well, now that sounded awful. She didn't want to imagine.

Rosie walked in, and he closed the door behind them. It was weird; she had never felt so private on the base. "I'm gonna have to hang out with you more often, if it means having some private space," she mused.

"You realize that doesn't make sense, spending time with someone for privacy," he chuckled, and she laughed with him.

"Yeah, suppose not." She sat down on the cot, waiting expectantly. "You pouring me a drink, or what?"

Zaka grabbed two plastic cups from the shelving along the wall. "That's a generous pour," she stated when he handed her the drink.

He shrugged. "Like I said earlier – it's been a rough day." She raised her glass to that.

"Gotta admit, I'm surprised you like Whiskey."

"Yeah?" She hadn't really thought about it. An old patron of hers had turned her on to the idea, and it stuck.

"It's a traditionally Darcsen drink." She failed to mask her surprise, and he took the opportunity to explain. "Darcsen's are believed to have first produced the drink. Most whiskeys come from fermented grains; before the northern region became heavily industrialized, it was a primary source of the ingredients. Of course," his laugh was dark, "no one nowadays _brands_ their whiskey as Darcsen. For obvious reasons."

"I never knew that."

"I figured." This time when he laughed it was bright, "Pretty funny in hindsight, your favorite drink is so connected to the Darcsens, huh? All this time you've actually been subsidizing us!"

She couldn't classify the tentative noise that came from her as a laugh, but he waved her off. "No hard feelings." Raising his cup, he said, "To learning new things, and making new friends."

They clinked their cups.

It was her second drink in, when her body felt warm and her lips were buzzing, that she felt brave enough to ask him about the concentration camp. Born and raised in Fouzen, he explained. When the imperials invaded, he and other Darcsens were rounded up and used for whatever labor needed; those who failed to perform usually were killed. Rosie trembled. He had spent most of his years prior to the invasion working in one of the factories producing all kinds of machinery; weapons, household items, you name it. "It's what kept me alive in the camp," his voice was rough with the recollection. "I was useful to them." He tipped the remaining contents of his cup back into his mouth, and Rosie was quick to grab the bottle and top them both off. "Of course, being so familiar with the factories, I knew just where to find the parts to make that bomb. So, that backfired on them," he laughed and they both clinked their cups to that.

"What about you?" Zaka asked. She bit her lip; she felt like she owed it to him to share, but wasn't quite ready to give up all the details. "Family died when I was young," she skirted over the topic quickly. "I was shipped off to an orphanage after that. Stayed for a few years…" her mind shook off painful memories, "…didn't like it. So, I dropped out of school, packed up, and headed off to Ghirlandaio. Worked in a bar for a while, sang. Stuff like that," she paused to sip, inured to the burn at this point. "Served on the town watch in my spare time; it's how I became corporal. When the war broke out, they asked me to go to Randgriz. And…well, here I am."

He must have noticed the hesitation in her story, but didn't push her for further information. Instead, Zaka change the subject. "You have a lovely voice."

Rosie flushed, and knew she couldn't blame the alcohol. "Thanks."

"It was very brave of you," he continued, "it's not easy for everyone to sing in public. Never mind at at a funeral." He was breaking their tacit rule to not talk about Isara. She felt herself becoming unstitched again. "It was the best way to send her off, though. Very beautiful."

She poured another drink.

It was when they had both lost count of their refills, groggy with sleep and inebriation, that she whispered, "I'm so sorry."

"Hm?" They were both reclined against the wall now, and in her drowsiness she had let her head rest against his shoulder, had slumped her body against him…wait, when had she entwined her legs with his? And when had he put his hand on her thigh…jeez, she was _drunk_. She liked the feeling of his hand. Rough, but warm and comforting. She felt her body flush, and this time there was no denying her desire.

Alcohol and sex. She really needed better coping mechanisms.

"What did you say?" He repeated. Oh, right. She had said something. He was staring at her, eyes a little bleary, wondering. His thumb was absentmindedly caressing her thigh. Damn.

"I said, I'm sorry." She forced herself to focus. When he looked at her questioningly, she pushed on. "For anything I've ever said about Darcsens. I'm a dumb jerk."

His smile was sad. "No, no, you're not," his words slurred just slightly, but they were sincere. "You've got a big heart, Rosie." He paused for a moment before saying, "I like you, you know. Anyone who can admit they were wrong…well, that's a real special thing."

She took a few moments to let his words sink in before twisting herself around to fully face him. Her gaze alternated between his eyes and lips. She was approaching the point of no return, and Zaka knew it too. She felt his hands tentatively hover at her waist, barely touching her, unsure. As she placed her hands on his chest she knew this was a _bad_ idea; it was one thing to get drunk and have sex to cope with the death of a friend. But she realized that this was quickly becoming about _her _andher own selfish fears, her desire for repentance. Sleeping with a Darcsen wasn't going to make up for her past treatment of them, and sleeping with a squad member would only cause future problems for the team. She regretted getting so drunk – her head was too foggy. _Bad idea, Rosie_, she screamed internally, _Bad idea!_

No, it really wasn't the healthiest way to grieve, but at 02:04, Rosie decided to kiss Zaka.

He returned her kiss with a fervor that surprised her, and either he was drunker than she, or he thought she was pretty enough to, you know, excuse the past racism. Or both. The thought made her want to laugh, but fortunately she didn't, because he deepened the kiss, pulling her onto his lap, hands confidently locked onto her waist. She felt her own hands creep under his shirt, fingers tracing sinewy muscle, and he moaned into her mouth. Damn, this may not have been a good idea, but it felt good.

She wasn't sure who initiated, but suddenly they shifted on the cot, and he moved on top of her and their limbs tangled. Her hair had fallen from its buns; his headscarf fell to the wayside. It was after she had discarded his shirt and was reaching to undo the zipper of her own uniform that he pulled away.

"No."

His voice was rough, and as he hovered over her she saw that he was trembling.

"What is it? What's wrong, what did I do?"

He didn't look at her. "You're drunk."

"I'm not _that_ drunk." _Wait, _she thought to herself, _what are you saying, yes you are!_ "I'm not." He chuckled to himself and finally met her eyes.

"Well, we both know you are, and even if you are trying to convince yourself you aren't right _now_, in about 20 minutes you will be." He paused. "Besides, _I'm_ drunk…" he trailed off. He did look a little off-balance.

"…And?"

"And I am not going to take advantage." He pulled away, and she had never seen him so discomfited. His words were slow and deliberate. "Not smart for either of us."

"Wow," Rosie said. "Chilvarous. I mean, chivalrous," she slurred. "Whatever." He laughed again.

"Funny drunk _and_ sober. You really are something else, Rosie." He disentangled himself from her, and in the empty space she felt the warmth of his body replaced by the coldness of realization.

"Isara is dead."

He didn't respond.

A sharp intake of breath provided clarity, and she pushed herself up, fighting off her dizziness. "Damn, tomorrow's gonna suck."

He laughed. "Yeah. That's an understatement."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make things weird between us."

Zaka shrugged. "No weirdness here, at least, nothing that will last. We all deal with pain in different ways. Drinking an entire bottle of whiskey probably isn't the best way, but to each their own, right?"

"Heh, yeah, I guess." She smiled at him. A thought ran through her head; it was the whiskey that gave her the courage to voice it.

"If I weren't drunk, would you do it?" She dared to ask.

He looked at her confused. "Do what?"

"Sleep with me."

He didn't expect so blunt a question. She could tell he was wrestling with the question, not knowing just how to answer. "That's not fair to ask me drunk," his voice was soft.

"So, I should ask you sober?"

"Maybe," he evaded, and a thrill ran down her spine.

"Be careful what you wish for," she said. "I might just do it." He chuckled again, helping her to stand up off the cot.

"Do you need help getting back to the barracks?"

She stood for a few moments. Definitely drunk, but she was confident she could make it into her bunk without passing out. She took a step and toppled over, fortunate for him to catch her. Okay, so maybe she was overconfident in her abilities.

"Yeah, you're definitely not making it back."

He helped her lay back down, and she rapidly found herself becoming too tired to protest. He pulled off her boots, discarded his own, and grabbed the blanket from the end of the cot before laying next to her and covering both of them. "Is this okay, laying next to you?" he asked. She nodded tiredly, leaning into him.

"Hey, Rosie?"

"Yeah, Zaka?"

"Before you fall asleep…" he trailed off.

"What?"

"Sing?"

She smiled to herself, and obliged him with a rendition of Isara's song. When she finished, he asked her to do it again.

It was a much healthier way to grieve, and at 03:04, just before singing them both to sleep, Rosie decided her dream of singing was just the way to cope.

**A/N: I have made it my new life's mission to populate the internet with fic of this pairing. I love it that much. Sorry-not sorry.**


End file.
